


Splendor in the grass

by KeJ



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeJ/pseuds/KeJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is dumb boys in love on bicycles and nothing hurts. Also flowers. Oh, and porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splendor in the grass

**Author's Note:**

> Title totally stolen from Pink Martini's song.

“I want to show you something”, I say when Marco opens the door. His eyes fall on the two bicycles that I brought with me. 

“Give me a minute.” 

I nod, rubbing my sweaty palms on the leg of my jeans. It’s insanely hot today, probably too hot to go cycling. Shit, I don’t even know if Marco _likes_ cycling in the first place. Is what I want to show him truly worth all that trouble? What if he thinks it’s stupid? What if he thinks _I’m_ stupid? Why did I decide that this was a good idea again? 

“I didn’t know you had more than one bicycle at home.” 

I turn my head so fast that my neck hurts. He changed for white shorts and a pair of trainers and is bearing a sweet smile. The lump in my throat won’t go away. 

“If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to just because you pity me”, I blurt out, looking at the ground. I resist the urge to hide my face in my hands. Maybe Armin was right. Maybe I should learn to think before speaking or doing something stupid and losing my best friend forever over something he certainly doesn’t want to- 

“Jean.” 

I don’t know when Marco got so close to me, but when I lift up my gaze, I find myself looking directly into frowning brown eyes. I swallow. 

“Do you think I have no willpower or something? The word “no” is included in my vocabulary, and I know how to use it. Let’s go.” 

He pats me on the shoulder, that soft smile of his back on his lips, and I release a deep breath. 

“Sorry”, I call after him, “I forget sometimes that you’re immune to my natural charisma and still have willpower of your own.” 

“Only because your great modesty eclipses said charisma”, comes the reply before I have time to regret what I just said. The smug look on his face is the only reason I let him get away with such a bad comeback, honest. 

Shortly after, Marco is passing me on the bike _I_ gave him, the ingrate little shit. I smirk. Let’s see what he is made of. 

The city road soon gives way to a bicycle path free of cars, slaloming between rows of trees and great wheat fields. Marco is still ahead of me, despite the fact that I’m currently devoting all my strength to pedaling. My shins hurt, and the bastard _laughs_. 

“What, are you tired already?” 

“Not everyone has been graced with the legs of a grasshopper, Bodt.” 

“It was called _muscle_ last time I checked. But maybe you were too busy eating pizza to learn what it means?” 

“Shut up. At least I’m not the one eating pasta for _breakfast_.” 

He laughs again and pedals faster. I watch his long legs move and notice some freckles on his bare shines. Where the hell does he get all that muscle from? As far as I know, he spent the better part of the holidays at home, reading books and playing video games. With me. Well, I didn’t do the reading part, but I was often playing the guitar on his bed when he did so; I would know it if he had secretly exercised. Still, he’s got undeniably strong thighs and an equally muscled… lower back. His white shorts do very little to cover it; I even catch a glimpse of smooth, tanned skin under his rising up shirt. 

Witchcraft. 

My heart is pounding in my chest for some uncanny reason: envy, probably, since pallid lanky little me couldn’t compete with his handsome features, even if I wanted to. My gaze wanders on the trees nearby and falls on the road sign I was supposed to look for. Shit. 

“We have to turn right!” I shout, “Be careful, there’s a slope!” 

And so he does, letting go of the handlebars to give me the thumbs up and a bright smile. What a dork. 

I feel the corners of my lips twitch up when I follow him and my bike begins to speed up on its own. I used to come home covered in bruises when I went cycling, but now I’m feeling confident enough to try and perform all the acrobatics that I never learnt. Here, on that slope, at full speed, nothing can happen. I’m flying. I can’t fall. 

Turns out I can, and I just conveniently forgot it. Maybe that’s why I got so many bruises, after all. 

“Ouch…” whines the ground under me. 

I open my eyes and find Marco’s face, wrinkled in pain. 

“How the fuck did I manage to land on top of you?” 

He stares at me, eyes crossing in their effort to focus on me. 

“I saw you flying and tried to catch you.” 

I flush. It really is too hot for this kind of body contact. 

“… Well, thanks. I hope you aren’t hurt.” I get up, dust my knees and hold out a hand that Marco takes. I pull on his arm, drawing him up and closer to me to scan his face for any traces of injury. 

“Uh…” 

I meet his worried gaze and quickly add: “Your lip is bleeding. Nothing much.” Marco’s tongue darts out to lick away the red droplet. I never noticed that he had a freckle here too, right at the corner of his mouth. Or is it a beauty spot? Must be because he smiles so much, it gets lost in those cute dimples of his. 

A discreet cough. Shit, I got distracted again. 

“So, what was it that you wanted to show me?” 

“Oh, right. Bikes first.” 

I grimace when I spot mine in a bush, wheel hanging in the air. The frame appears a bit wringed when I brush the leaves off it, but it still seems functional. We put them against a tree in some semblance of proper parking and I set my hands on Marco’s shoulders to turn him around and push him towards the field. Soon enough, he firmly anchors his feet on the ground and snickers at me until, awkwardly pushing and pulling, shoulder against shoulder, crab-steering and giggling all along, we finally come to a stop. 

His back stiffens against mine as he takes a sharp breath. Silence. 

“I didn’t know you liked flowers, Jean”. 

He has spoken in a quiet voice, still facing the field. My breath hitches in my throat. I knew that this was a bad idea. 

“’Didn’t either.” My back is still pressed to his, shirts dampened with sweat. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t move. “Do you too? Uh, like them?” 

“Yes”, he exhales, “Very much so.” 

I stay silent and rest my head on his shoulder, getting lost in the waves of red and green before us. We learned at school that poppy fields were common in our countryside, but I had never actually seen one; and, considering how Marco reacted, I bet he hadn’t either. 

We sit down eventually, still silent. Ever since we knew each other, we had our silent afternoons, where we would just sit near each other and say nothing. It’s usually peaceful and allows me to think about nothing but how strange it is that we, humans, are living on this earth and doomed to die one day, and despite all this continue to live and find sense in absurd things. You know, that kind of stuff. 

Today, however, my arm barely brushing Marco’s, basking in the warmth of the setting sun, I have trouble focusing on the beauty of the flowers or the immensity of the sky. I am not in this field, but in my bed, two days ago, when Marco slept on a spare mattress on the ground. I am in my bed, lying still, arm hanging from under my bed sheets. I am in my bed and I suddenly feel a hand in mine, not-so-asleep sweet Marco’s hand, and I pretend to sleep, not even daring to grip it tighter. When I wake up, the hand is gone and Marco doesn’t talk about it. 

I absently reach for a poppy, caressing its petals. Marco recently began to use me as a pillow while reading or when we played video games (I was fairly sure that it was meant to distract me though. Little cheater), not that I minded. He would lean against me during long train rides or press himself against my back when I was playing guitar, his chin digging into my shoulder as he watched my fingers move with adorable concentration. Maybe I have problems with contact and personal space. Maybe that’s why I flinch every time he touches me, and maybe that sort of thing is common between friends. Maybe, while some people sleepwalk, others grip their friend’s hands in their sleep. Maybe- 

Speaking of hands, mine tingles. I lift it up, dreading to see some kind of bug here, and find it intertwined with long fingers. I look at Marco, who is staring at a grass blade like it’s the most interesting thing he ever saw. His cheeks almost match the poppies we’re drowning in. 

I clear my throat. 

“Hey, Marco…” 

He makes a strangled noise. I squeeze his hand and take a steadying breath before speaking again. __

“About your little scratch… Do you want me to kiss it better?” 

Brain, what the actual fuck. Before I can process how bad I fucked up, a giggling Marco is gently turning my face towards his. 

“Your pick-up line is about two hours late, Jean.” 

And with that, his lips are on mine. They linger here just for a second and he pulls back, studying me carefully. 

“I-Is this okay? Is this what you wanted to do?” 

I press my fingers to my lips, then to his face, stupidly. His skin is smooth and warm under my palm as I stroke it gently, gazing into wide brown eyes. He smiles and I lean forward to taste that smile again, kiss the freckle at the corner of his mouth, lick at it. His hand is on my neck now, and he draws me closer and closer until I fall on top of him, sending poppy petals flying everywhere. 

“This is cliché as fuck” I say, brushing flowers off his hair. 

“Whose idea was it again?” Marco laughs and encircles my waist before rolling over to reverse our position. The ground is hard under my back and little mounds of earth are poking into my spine, but I can’t bring myself to care. Marco is straddling me and I fist my hand in his shirt to pull him roughly into another kiss. The tip of his tongue slides into my mouth and I catch it between my lips, gently, caressing it with my own to try and get more of him, more of that amazingly _alluring_ taste of him. I grab his biceps, fingers digging into the muscles. I angle my head a little, trying to be tender, not too intrusive, trying not to drool and, most importantly- 

“You’re overthinking”, Marco growls as he props himself on one elbow and slips his right hand under my shirt. I arch into the touch, exposing my waist to the last rays of sunlight, goose bumps still finding their way under my skin. His hand creeps further up and brushes against my ribs, my chest, one of my nipples. I can’t tear myself away from his face, his beautiful face: his eyes are wide open, following the path of his hand on my upper body, flinching at every little sound and every shiver he manages to draw out of me with his feather-light touches. 

Positioned as he is, the edge of his shirt is rising up and reveals further expanses of skin, renewing the warmth in my guts. I slowly reach forward to brush my hand against his side and he jumps in surprise, too entranced with my chest to have noticed my other movements. 

“Shht”, I say, stupid as always, and sit up to tug gently at the hem of his shirt. “May I…?” I really want to see if the secret exercising-witchcraft applies to his abs too, okay. Smiling, Marco sits straight and opens his arms in invitation, and I can’t help but laugh a little. 

“What?” he asks, confused and maybe a bit hurt. I lean forward and kiss his freckled nose, still laughing. 

“You still have one of those damn flowers in your hair.” 

“Oh.” He grins and picks it up, holding it thoughtfully between two fingers before dropping it on my lap. “Oops”, he states, suddenly lying face-down in front of me. “Where did it go?” 

“It’s just th- oh.” Marco has grabbed my wrist, preventing me from handing him the flower, and he is looking up at me with malicious eyes, his chin digging into my thigh. My mouth goes dry and I think I have never gotten hard so fast in my whole life. When did that tender smile of his become so fucking _dirty_? “But”, I manage to extirpate from my fuzzy mind, “Just now you wanted me to… Didn’t you…?” 

“Changed my mind.” And with that, he puts his hands on my fly, stopping there for a second. “Still okay?” He is biting his lip and those usually soft eyes are shining, pupils dilated as he looks up at me with an almost… _pleading look_? Fuck. 

“Fuck”, I say, eloquently enough. He doesn’t move. His eyes are still fixed on my face, somewhat amused. Waiting. “Fuck”, I repeat, “Yes. Please.” I feel his sharp intake of breath at the word and see his cheeks flush all of a sudden. I flash him a grin, cocking my head. “Please?” I murmur again. I watch him lick his lips and crawl closer to press a kiss against my navel, hiding his burning face under my shirt. The sky is quickly becoming darker, but I can still see him fumbling with my zipper. Arousal is coiling in my stomach and my temples are pounding at the mere thought of Marco putting his mouth here, the sweet mouth I kissed earlier, his sweet mouth and teasing tongue, and the strong hands that grabbed my neck and pulled at my hair are here too, brushing against my cock, shit _oh shit-_

And then he stops, lips pressed to the fabric of my jeans, nose poking into my crotch, frowning. 

I may or may not let out an absolutely undignified sound. Marco looks up at me. 

“You’re sure nobody comes in that field at an hour like this, right?” 

“What the fuck would they want to do there?” I reach forward to tuck a strand of black hair behind his ear, trying to steady my breath. “Besides, if there’s any creep spying on us, we’d better give them a good show, right?” 

Marco just stares at me for a moment, his eyes so full of fond exasperation that they send my cheeks ablaze. 

“Erm, sorry.” 

He shakes his head and gently grabs my cock through my boxers. His palm rubs against it as he watches me with caution. My breath catches in my throat at the sensation and he smiles a little, almost shyly. Shit, he is going to _kill_ me before I am finished. His eyes abandon me as he tugs at the waist of my pants, dragging them down, and I lift my hips to help him. I can’t even process what is happening anymore; Marco successfully reduced me to a complete mess, and I can only let out a shaky moan when his hands slide under my bare ass, much smoother than the unforgiving ground. ****

A quiet second, and I realize that my eyes fluttered close somewhere in the process. I open them again and look down at Marco just in time to see him take a tentative lick at my cock. Oh _fuck._ I buck up into the touch, accidentally sliding past his parted lips. 

“Oh shit, shit, I’m sorr-nghh!” Marco didn’t protest, seizing the occasion to take me into his mouth instead. I can feel him chuckle when I release a surprised gasp, and his hand reaches up to take mine, pulling at it until it’s resting in his hair. I stroke the black strands with shaky hands, brushing his neck with the back of my nails, and he hums appreciatively around my cock. 

“F-fuck, you’re perfect, how do you ev-… ahh”, and I’m losing it, shaking violently against him because everything is too much, his hot mouth around me and his fingers digging in the flesh of my ass and the fresh wind hitting my sweat-soaked skin, but it’s not quite _enough_. I find his shoulder in the dark and squeeze it. “M-Marco.” He doesn’t stop bobbing his head up and down, seemingly enjoying it as much as I do, and damn is it hard to focus in such a situation. 

“Hey, I n-need you to… I want to… Marco!” I cry out as his teeth graze lightly over sensitive flesh, and my fingers clench in his hair, forcing him to pull out. I let go of his hair and use my thumb to wipe away the trail of saliva that is hanging from the corner of his mouth. The evening is quiet around us and our heavy breathing sounds ridiculously loud. 

“Sorry”, I whisper, “I just wanted to kiss you again.” 

A broken sigh and he is straddling my lap, pressing his forehead against mine. We breathe hot puffs of air into each other’s mouths, quietly, before our lips meet almost lazily. He doesn’t taste the same as earlier, and I exhale a tiny moan. Oh right, sweet reminder of the fucking _things_ that mouth just did to me. I kiss him again and again, lick the alien taste off his lips and tongue, even bite down a little when his plump bottom lip gets in the way of my teeth. 

He whimpers and squirms a bit at that and I quickly draw back. He is flushed red, avoiding my gaze and worrying said lip between his own teeth. His fingers timidly reach for mine and he guides them between his legs, against rough fabric and hard flesh waiting underneath. Oh shit _,_ thinks my heart while visibly trying to escape my chest with its furious pounding. I lean down to press my closed mouth again Marco’s as I put my trembling hands down his pants and fumble with his zipper. Marco pants against my ear and his hands roam under my shirt, over my back, pinch one of my nipples and _won’t that damn thing come off-_

He hisses when I finally take him in hand, his flesh hot and hard under my palm. I thumb at the wet tip and earn a loud gasp from him as he buries his head in my neck, cheeks burning. I stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed, and when he looks up again I kiss him roughly, pulling at his black locks and making him moan and arch and buck up into the fist I keep wrapped around him, and when he trembles and grabs my shoulders and brokenly sobs “Jean!” before leaning down for a kiss, I lose it. 

“Can you please… Please…?” I beg, failing to keep my eyes open. I feel him nod shakily and he spits on his hand before wrapping it around both of our cocks and urging me closer, his other hand on my neck, lips sloppily pressed against my cheeks, my nose, the corners of my lips. I cry out and dig my nails in his sides, rocking my hips against him to gain more friction, more of him, of his wonderful warmth and his sweet smell and the wet kisses he gives me, his name falling off my lips over and over. 

“Marco… Marco…!” His hand is doing wonders and heat is irresistibly building up in my stomach as I open my eyes to look at _him_. His own eyes are tightly shut, his lips parted and swollen from our kisses, and he is panting my name as he thrusts up with abandon in his trembling fist. My mouth goes dry and the heat in my stomach suddenly explodes as I let out a long moan and spill all over Marco’s hand and cock. I feel teeth sinking in my shoulder when Marco reaches his orgasm and we stay still, shaking lightly in each other’s arms. 

Marco’s heartbeat flutters against my chest and when I look up, I find him staring at me with rosy cheeks, messy hair and debauched lips. He smiles when he catches my gaze and lifts up his hand. He is holding one of those fucking poppies and, still smiling, puts it behind my ear before pecking me on the lips. 

“You are the cheesiest friend that I ever had”, he whispers, and I snort. 

“Well, I think we are a good match.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are kept in a little pink box close to the author's heart and cherished to no end since it's her first time writing smut and she would love some advice! ♥
> 
> [Still on tumblr at kickederenjaeger]


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